Request Fics
by The Lightning Flash
Summary: As the title suggests, these are all fics requested over at my tumblr and compiled here. Various characters, parings and gen fic, and all oneshots. Feel free to send me a request on tumblr (@gogogoats) or here!
1. Chapter 1

Fic One requested by keylimecliche. "I didn't pay my bill so my water is shut off, can I please shower in your flat?" Janther AU.

Just a heads up, there's nothing explicit in this chapter but some things are slightly more than implied.

* * *

Jane was in her pyjamas, text books spread all over the table and a bowl of ice cream in her hand when she heard the knock on her door.

Looking through the peep hole she muttered under her breath when she saw her boss, before turning the lock.

"Hi?" she said, with what she hoped was an obvious blend of polite irritation.

Gunther Breech leaned against her door frame, arms folded across his chest in what he clearly thought was a cool and casual pose. A lock of black hair flopped over one eye, spoiling the effect.

"Hey," he said, brushing it aside.

" . . . hi," repeated Jane. "Was there something you needed?"

Gunther glanced over her shoulder and into the tiny living area of her flat, at the table covered in books and the bowl of melting ice cream.

"Sorry to interrupt your hectic evening," he said, his gaze returning to Jane and taking in her sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt. With dragons on it.

One of his eyebrows arched, and Jane wondered if he even realised it was doing that. He gave her the same look a lot at work.

"I'm studying," she said bluntly. "So if this isn't important maybe we could discuss it tomorrow?"

"Actually, I need a favour," he admitted, suddenly a little uncomfortable. "I, uh, didn't pay my bill and my water got shut off. Can I use your shower?"

Jane blinked in surprise. "What? How does __Gunther Breech__ fail to pay a bill?"

"I don't know," Gunther said through gritted teeth. "I guess I just __forgot__."

Jane couldn't help the smirk that spread across her face. Gunther Breech was admitting to making a mistake? And asking her for a favour? Oh, she could have fun with this.

"Look, can I use your shower or not?" Gunther asked impatiently.

"Hmm," Jane tapped her chin, making a show of thinking it over. "I mean, is this really appropriate? Why didn't you ask one of the guys?"

"Drake is at Pepper's and Smithy is visiting his family. And we both know I'd rather never take a shower again than ask Jesse for help," he glowered at her. "Yes or no, Turnkey?"

"Oh, gee, I dunno," Jane turned and strolled back into her living room. "I'd hate to be accused of being improper with my boss, you know?" She grinned over her shoulder at the man standing in her doorway.

Gunther sighed in defeat. "Fine. You wanted Saturday the 25th off, right?"

 _ _Yessss__. Jane resisted the urge to punch the air.

"Are you __bribing__ me?" she asked in mock horror. "I expected better of you, boss."

"Yes, yes I am. Now are you going to let me use your shower?" Another strand of hair fell over his eyes and he pushed it aside impatiently.

It __did__ look like it could use a wash.

"Fine," she relented. "Come in."

He stepped into the flat, his broad shouldered frame making the space seem even smaller.

"Nice place," he said unconvincingly. "Very __you__."

Jane glanced at the posters of medieval knights and dragons that adorned her walls and grinned unrepentantly. "Thanks. The bathroom's through there. You'll find towels in the cupboard."

She watched in amusement as he walked towards the bathroom, shuffling sideways between the sofa and table towards the door.

Her place really __was__ too small for him.

"Where's the door?"

Jane was broken from her reverie by the question.

"Oh, come on. You know what I earn, you think I can afford a place with __internal doors__?" she teased.

Gunther looked at her incredulously. "You're kidding," he said in a tone that suggested he wasn't sure, but he certainly hoped so.

"Nope, the last tenants took it with them and replacing it is on my landlord's to do list." Jane shrugged. "It's not really a hassle for me though. I just use the curtain."

She pointed, and Gunther looked at the flimsy shower curtain pushed to the side and held in place at the top of the frame by several thumb tacks.

"You're __kidding__ ," he said again.

"Take it or leave it," Jane shrugged. "I promise not to peek!"

She chuckled to herself as she heard Gunther mutter unintelligibly, and returned to her books and ice cream.

The curtain brushed against the bathroom floor as it was moved into place, and the shower started running shortly after.

She definitely had no intention of looking, of course. That would be wrong.

Just a quick glance to make sure the curtain was in place, to spare them both any embarrassment.

It was.

Well, good then.

She stirred the melted ice cream and drummed her fingers on the page of her book.

The sound of the water changed as he stepped into the shower and it began to splash off and over him.

She read the same sentence three times.

"Dammit," she muttered, pushing her chair back and carrying her bowl to the sink, spoon clattering against ceramic as she dumped it on top of her other dishes.

She could wash them, but giving her boss a cold shower might affect her newly won Saturday off.

There really wasn't anywhere to sit that didn't have the bathroom curtain square in her field of vision, so Jane slouched down onto the sofa, grabbing her phone and staring blankly at the screen.

Water splashed erratically- perhaps he was rinsing his hair- and then the pipes shuddered as the taps were turned off.

Jane dropped her phone onto her chest and stared at the striped plastic curtain. She couldn't see anything anyway, so what was the harm?

Bare feet slapped against the tiled floor and the cupboard was opened and closed as Gunther removed a towel.

The curtain billowed slightly as the towelling off process began.

Jane sighed.

"Your bathroom is minuscule," called Gunther.

"Yeah," she agreed absent-mindedly as striped plastic breathed in and out.

"How do you even live in this shoe box?"

"Yeah," sighed Jane.

"Pardon?"

The curtain stilled.

"Um, yes, what? It is small!" Jane scrambled to her feet, dropping her phone. "Shit!"

"Are you okay?" Gunther stuck his head out from behind the curtain, the plastic pulling taught against his shoulder. That damn lock of hair, now slick and wet, hovered in front of his eye, a single drop of water trembling at its tip.

Gunther looked down at Jane as she crouched on the floor, picking up her phone, just as the drip let go, splashing onto his lower lip.

"Yes?" she said, eyes following the moisture as his tongue darted out to swipe it away, before licking her own lips.

"Really?" he asked with that damn, __damn__ smirk.

"Yes!" She jumped to her feet. "I'm fine. Thank you!"

"Okay then," said Gunther, still smirking.

He moved back behind the curtain, tugging it back into place when the belaboured tacks rebelled.

Jane had barely registered the sound of them hitting the floor when the plastic sheet fluttered gracefully downwards, revealing Gunther with a towel knotted around his waist and a look of disbelief on his face.

"What the-"

"Shit," said Jane again. "Shit, sorry! Mind the tacks!" She hurried over, unthinking, and began searching for the tacks, picking them up as she found them. "Just- don't move, okay?"

"Jane."

"I've nearly got them all, just hold on."

" _ _Jane__."

"Just don't step on any, okay?"

"For God's sake, Jane!"

Jane looked up then, past the bare legs, the grey towel, the - _ _guh__ \- toned stomach and bare chest, to Gunther's face.

"It's fine," he said, although the tight line of his mouth suggested otherwise.

"Right, off course! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Jane jumped to her feet. "I'll just, um, fix this . . ."

She grabbed the curtain and looked up at the top of the door frame, then down at the tacks in her hand.

"I used a ladder before . . . " she trailed off uncertainly.

"Jane, it's __fine__ ," Gunther said, and Jane looked up to see his controlled facial expression crumble to reveal . . . an amused smile?

He took her hand and gently upturned it over his, dropping the tacks onto his palm. "I can get this."

Taking the curtain and holding it by one corner he reached upwards to fasten it against the door frame with one of the tacks.

His torso stretched out, further defining the V of his lower abdomen, and the towel slipped down incrementally.

" _ _Jesus__ ," breathed Jane . . . out loud.

"Oh, shit," . . . also out loud.

Gunther glanced down at her once more, his eyebrow curving upwards incredulously.

"I should go. Do the dishes." Jane felt the heat rising in her cheeks. "And drown myself in the sink," she muttered, trying squeeze past him with her eyes closed.

"Jane, wait." Gunther lowered an arm to stop her. "It's fine, really," he said, the same amused tone in his voice. "In fact," he added, reaching behind her to drop the handful of tacks into the sink. "I honestly don't mind."

Jane squinted up at him in disbelief, noting the nearness of that divine chest before taking in the look of good-humoured affection on his face.

"Really?" She asked stupidly, as though his proximity and the fact that he was holding her in place wasn't telling enough.

"Really," he confirmed, using his free hand to push the damp hair off his forehead, only to have it fall back into place.

That was Jane's undoing. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his lips down to hers, her tongue hungrily tasting where his had been earlier.

He responded with enthusiasm, to Jane's relief, his other arm snaking behind her and pulling her body against his, before turning her slightly and pressing her against the door frame.

She sighed happily as her hands explored his chest, finding his nipples and teasing them gently, and his groan rumbled against her fingers.

It was Jane's turn to smirk, although when Gunther felt her lips stretching under his he turned the tables, moving his kisses down her jaw and to her neck, lathing his tongue against the delicate skin.

"G-Gunther," she gasped, annoyed by the breathy way her voice sounded.

"Mmm?"

Jane didn't know how he could make such a simple noise sound so smug.

She could feel him, hot and hard and pressing against her through the towel, and a responding ache grew in her.

"Bedroom," she panted in his ear. " _ _Now__."

Gunther gathered her up and, for once, obeyed without argument.

Ooooo

Early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, waking Jane. The heavy arm draped over her waist tightened reflexively as she stirred, and she smiled, reaching for the little book on her night stand.

She was flicking through the pages when Gunther snatched it from her grasp.

"My turn to choose," he reminded her sleepily. "I was thinking the lingerie sales person one sounds fun," he murmured into her hair.

"I'm sure it does," Jane rolled her eyes, grabbing the book back and placing it on the table. Of all the engagement gifts they had received, the little book from Pepper had definitely been the most fun. "I thought last night was pretty good."

"As if I would ever forget to pay my bills," he grumbled, but his satisfied tone suggested he didn't disagree with Jane's assessment.

"That's the fun of pretending," Jane reminded him, kissing his temple. "But I have to go wedding dress shopping today and if you don't get moving you'll be late for work."

Gunther groaned wearily but rolled over and got out of bed. Jane admired his backside as he walked from the room into the bathroom, closing the bathroom door.

And then she smirked.


	2. Chapter 2

Fic Two was requested by book-series-fandom. "Don't look at me likee that, I don't want pity."

* * *

"Stop it," muttered Gunther, despite the pain in his lip.

Smithy sighed as though he had expected the order, and had no intention of heeding it. "Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that. I do not need your pity."

"I do not pity you," said Smithy, returning his medical supplies to the small chest where he kept them stored.

They were intended for for his duties in the care of the castle animals, and it humiliated Gunther to have his wounds treated with such undignified equipment, although he had noticed the kit had become somewhat more sophisticated since his first late night visit to the forge.

"I think you a fool," Smithy continued, breaking Gunther from his thoughts. He dunked a cloth into the trough beside the forge and returned to press it against Gunther's jaw, before using it to clean away the dried trail of blood from his neck.

He was surprisingly gentle for a large man who spent his days beating metal into submission, and Gunther closed his eyes and tried not to wince through his ministrations. He had learnt some time ago that there was no point in arguing; Smithy would be done when he was done, one simply had to sit still in the meantime.

"No one would think anything of it if you moved into the knights' quarters," he said, gently turning Gunther's head from side to side and inspecting his work. "It would be far less suspicious than all of these bruises. No one really thinks you go fighting in the tavern."

"Jane does," Gunther pointed out.

"Jane is an honest soul, she does not expect deception from her friends -least of all a fellow apprentice."

Gunther felt the familiar guilt rising in his stomach. He did not enjoy misleading his comrades, and yet . . .

"He is my father, Smithy."

"He hurts you," pointed out the smith bluntly.

"He is the only family I have."

"And you are the only family __he__ has, but that does not stay his hand."

"I cannot leave him. Not yet." Gunther had considered it, of course. Sometimes anger would overwhelm him and he would plan his escape, imagine never speaking to the man again, but when the time came to follow through his will deserted him and all that was left was shame, guilt and fear. Not that he would ever tell anyone that, not even Smithy.

"Then at least defend yourself," Smithy tossed the cloth onto the pile of rags he used in his work.

"I can not hurt an unarmed old man," said Gunther, refusing to meet the other man's eyes. He knew it was a poor excuse.

Smithy sighed again. "Do as you will; you are your own man. But do not seek me out to tend to your wounds next time."

"No, Smithy," said Gunther, standing.

The older man turned to stoke the fires of his forge and the younger walked towards the training yard, cold grey morning light once more dissolving their solemn camaraderie.

Both men knew there __would__ be a next time, and that when it came Gunther would slink into the forge like wounded animal, and Smithy, as ever, would not refuse him aid.


	3. Chapter 3

"We're both actually con-artists trying to scam each other." AU, Jesinia, for keylimecliche

* * *

The young woman carried herself with poise, despite her dishevelled appearance. Her dark hair was styled into a trend-setting beehive, and her bright red lipstick was only slightly smudged. Her black and white shift dress, obviously unchanged from the night before, looked well made under the dirty patches. She came from money, Jesse would have bet his last pound on it. Well, if he hadn't just spent it on life's necessities- cigarettes and a bottle of lemon squash.

He turned from the petrol station counter with his purchases in hand and watched as she walked through the door, lifting her white rimmed sunglasses to perch atop her head.

There were no other cars in the driveway, Jesse noted. Perhaps he had just found a damsel in distress.

She glanced around the small shop, her gaze finally settling on Jesse, and the cigarettes in his hand. Other than the attendant he was the only other person there.

With a sigh, and one last, lingering glance in his direction, she stepped back outside, lowering her sunglasses back onto the bridge of her nose.

"W-wait!" Jesse followed her into the sunshine. "Was there something you needed?"

"Do you work here?" she asked, pausing. Her voice was well trained, her accent placing her firmly amongst the upper-classes.

Jesse smiled. Money indeed.

"No, I'm just passing through town. But I recognise a lady in need of help when I see one. I'm Jesse, at your service." He gave a quick bow.

"Oh," she said, taken aback. "I'm Lavinia. I'd love a smoke," she added wistfully.

"Of course, as my lady commands."

Placing the bottle of squash and his keys on the roof of his blue Hillman Imp, Jesse opened the carton and offered a cigarette to Lavinia before drawing one out for himself. Fishing in his jacket pockets he found his box of matches, striking one to life and lighting both cigarettes.

Lavinia inhaled deeply, tilting her head back as she blew the smoke heavenward.

 _ _Nice jawline__ , Jesse noted.

"Thanks," she said, the slight tilt of her head suggesting that she was looking at him from behind the dark lenses of her glasses.

"You are most welcome," he said, inclining his head. "Was there anything else I can do for you?"

"I don't know," she replied, sighing out another puff of smoke. "My friends booked it without me and I'm not carrying any money so I can't call home."

 _ _Can't contact your wealthy parents?__ thought Jesse. __We can't have that.__

"That's terrible," he said, concern etched on his features. "Have you been alone out here all night?"

"The party only ended this morning," she shrugged. "But now I can't get home."

"How __awful__ for you," Jesse shook his head mournfully. "Surely there must be some way I can help?"

Lavinia __hmm__ ed thoughtfully. "I suppose you could lend me some money for a pay phone?" she suggested.

"Alas, I am fresh out of change." Jesse made a show of patting his pockets again, his cheap polyester jacket creasing with the movements. "Perhaps I could offer you a ride instead? I'm sure your parents must be worried about you."

This time Lavinia made no effort to conceal what she was doing, sliding her glasses down her nose and eyeing him from head to toe.

He wasn't looking his sharpest, he knew. His shirt was crumpled and his narrow black tie had been tugged loose, plus his shoes were scuffed.

"Who did you say you were?" she asked, index finger tapping against the side of her sunglasses frames.

"Jesse Starr, musical artiste, at your service," he replied, bowing.

Something in her eyes lit up.

"A musician? What do you play?"

"Guitar, mostly," said Jesse, caught off-guard by her sudden interest. "I tinker with any instruments I can get my hands on, however."

"I bet you do," replied Lavinia drily, confounding him entirely. "Can you sing?" she quizzed before he could gather himself enough to defend his honour.

"Well, I . . . yes. I have been complimented on my tongue a time or two." Jesse thought he had recovered well, until both of Lavinia's eyebrows rose and she slid the glasses back into place.

"I see," she said, chewing her lower lip thoughtfully for a moment.

Jesse was aware he was being assessed, although he had no idea what for.

Eventually Lavinia broke into a smile, unsettling in it's deviousness.

"Daddy will __love__ you," she said at last, decisively, before walking quickly around the the passenger side of his Imp and climbing in. "Come on," she added impatiently as Jesse stared at her through the window. "It's a two hour drive!"


	4. Chapter 4

Smithy/Jane flufff for jatd4ever

* * *

Smithy was not an outspoken man. He did not write ballads or make public declarations, and although his heart beat strong and true, it was a steady, practical vessel.

But if love could be spoken in metal, as Smithy believed it could, then his feelings were easy to see when you knew where to look.

Jane's sword, knives and daggers were always sharp, her chain mail kept in perfect order, and her armour wrapped around her like a protective embrace.

Whenever she returned from battle he would examine each plate with care, and if any damage or weakness was found he would set to not only repairing but improving, until the armour of the wealthiest knight on the field could not compare in form and function.

Jane knew what it was to be admired, to be sung about and stared at and placed upon a pedestal until Jane, true Jane, was forgotten completely and only an idol remained.

She knew what it was like to be worried about, fretted over like some fragile thing who might never return from each adventure, incapable and unaccomplished.

But love? Oh, __yes__ , Jane knew love.

Love was trust, and faith, and support. Understanding in her work and confidence in her ability, and determination to help her do better, to __be__ better.

Love was fidelity, watching her leave with pride and welcoming her home with tenderness and patience.

Love was waiting, always waiting, in a warm forge, surrounded by tools and smelling of smoke and sweat, a pig snoring in the corner.

Love was strong arms and a steady heart, a sharp blade and immaculate tack.

Love was a knight and her blacksmith.


	5. Chapter 5

A Janther first dance for anon

* * *

Jane did not remember the exact moment (although her mother probably could) when she began to accept that she could be both a knight and a woman. That her accomplishments in the training yard and on the field would not be diminished if she chose to wear a gown to the ball.

Those who respected her would continue to do so, and those who refused to would not be swayed by any form of attire.

The first year she walked in with her head held high and her palms sweating. She stood stiffly and danced little, a round or two with her father and one with the princess, before escaping to her tower and burrowing into her bed.

The next year she was determined would be different. She would dance, and have fun, and enjoy herself.

She walked in with her head held high, her palms sweating, and her eyes sparkling.

She danced with her father, Sir Theodore, a young lord from a neighbouring kingdom, with Princess Lavinia and then, breathless and surprised, agreed to dance with Gunther Breech.

She stood in place with her head held high, her palms only a little sweaty, and her heart beating loudly.

Jane thought she had never danced with Gunther before. She believed that right until the moment they took their first steps, perfectly effortless and in sync, and realised that of course, __of course__ , they had.

They danced every day, spinning and stepping, twisting and turning until they could read the rhythm of each others' bodies without even knowing it.

Perhaps it was never to music and certainly there were never so many people. It was done in the dirt with weapons in hand but it was dancing, just the same.

Gunther seemed to realise this as Jane did, his smile reflecting her own as they moved so effortlessly through the steps with a skill that ordinary practice might never have granted them.

They danced together two more times that evening, neither seeming to care that the gossips were beginning to get excited.

After dancing with Gunther, dancing with anyone else felt slow and clumsy, as though other partners did not comprehend what dancing truly was.

When the night ended Jane felt a sense of loss. Would dancing ever feel that way again?

She walked wearily to the training yard the following morning and selected a sword, standing opposite Gunther and taking her opening stance.

And then Gunther smiled, as he had the night before, and Jane smiled back.

Perhaps dancing would not feel the way it had the previous night, but in the training yard it could well feel even better.


	6. Chapter 6

Anon requested and angsty Janther first kiss. Just a warning, this one is angsty and there is character death.

* * *

When Jane was fourteen and Gunther sixteen, they were parted. No longer enemies but scarcely friends, they bid each other farewell with few words said. Many more went unspoken, but they would wait. It was only to be a year.

Gunther was being sent to Vermith Kingdom as a ward ("As a hostage!" Jane had protested.) and in turn a high-born girl was being supplied as a Lady-in-Waiting for Princess Lavinia. Each was to take up residence in the other's kingdom while the details of a peace treaty were finalised, and the paperwork signed. Each was to return home in a twelve-month.

Prince Cuthbert fell in love with the girl.

When Jane was thirty-two and Gunther thirty-four they were reunited on opposite sides of a battlefield.

They made their way towards each other, hardly seeing the enemies in their path before cutting them down and pushing them aside. Both were weary to their bones, un-horsed hours ago and all sense of time gone.

The war was pointless and seemingly endless, Kippernia guided by a foolish king and Vermith the victim of a merciless one. The title of knight had been tainted by war, like the people who bore it. Childhood dreams had been weaponised by power-hungry men, and the dreamers sent to die by the sword.

They grew younger with each skirmish, veterans like Jane and Gunther few and far between, serving inherited kings they felt no true allegiance for. And yet, when untrained boys met hardened warriors in battle they were slaughtered and forgotten about, their lives dissolved as easily as a peace treaty.

Jane and Gunther met at last with a clash of swords. Wordlessly they staggered in the mire, grunting with exertion when they came together and circling warily as they drew apart. The training sessions of their youth were a mocking memory, the words of their mentors whispers on the wind.

There was nothing to say that could be said, nothing to do but what must be done. And so they fought, keeping nothing back, holding each other's gaze.

Tears burned Jane's eyes when she realised they were falling from Gunther's, mixing with the blood that trickled from a cut above his eye and running down his face. He was old before his time, greying at the temples, and Jane had fared no better. They were tired, so tired of endless fighting, life lived on the road, keeping their distance from comrades who might not last the day.

And still they fought, as they had been told to do, until it was all that remained of their lives, until even when reunited it was all that they __could__ do.

It was impossible to say who landed the first blow, or if perhaps they were synchronised, but their gaze never faltered as they ran each other through.

They sank to their knees and finally, blessedly, let go of their swords.

Gunther raised a hand to brush a stray curl from Jane's face, his thumb rubbing clumsily over her cheek. Jane mirrored him, placing her palm against his stubbled jaw as the colour drained from his skin.

Blood dribbled down his chin as he leant closer to her, and Jane's tears fell at last as he lowered his head to hers.

Blood, and tears, and lips met, separating only in death.

They were found when the battle was done, still on their knees, held in place by their swords, their heads slumped together.

When Jane was thirty-two and Gunther thirty-four they were buried together, and never parted again.


	7. Chapter 7

For the anon who wanted Smithy/Pepper.

* * *

It was a tricky thing, seeing someone you hardly ever actually saw.

They both worked hard in their separate domains, from before the sun rose in the morning until long after it had set. He tending to the animals, the forge and the knights, and she bound to her kitchen by invisible chains.

Their king and their kingdom depended upon them. Unfed and unarmed how could a castle run? Certainly it could not thrive.

And yet, in the darkest hours of the morning, while royals and knights, gardeners and fools all slept soundly, delicate pale hands were covered by large, tanned ones as they kneaded the day's bread.

The work continued, as it must and always did, but in companionable silence, accompanied by delicate touches, shy glances and blushing smiles.

They would spend just an hour or two together, alone, unpretending, and then he would leave her to her fire and return to his own.

It was a tricky thing, but a precious one, and those stolen hours made it all worthwhile.


	8. Chapter 8

keylimecliche decided to challenge me with a request for one-sided Jane/Cuthbert.

* * *

Four years is a considerable age gap when one party is eight and the other twelve. It is somewhat less insurmountable when one is eighteen and the other twenty-two. It is nothing at all when one is twenty-four and the other twenty-eight.

No, the difference in age was not what kept them apart. Other things did, certainly. His station in life, and hers. His duty, and hers. The importance of him marrying well, and the inconsequence of her marrying at all.

His lack of feelings for her.

Jane could not place the moment when it all began. When her straight-forward plans in life wobbled off their course, slowly at first, until suddenly they were careening wildly downhill with no means of correction, no method of arresting the momentum.

No, Jane was volunteering for royal guard duty and throne room service long before she realised, and by then the damage was done. No matter how many nights she spent laying awake, examining the workings of her own mind, the conclusion drawn was always the same.

She loved Prince Cuthbert.

It was a painful realisation, one that filled her with disbelief.

How could this be? How had he worked his way into her affections, so duplicitously, so effortlessly, so . . . unintentionally.

He was not a handsome man. Jane could not say that she had been swayed by his looks, caught off-guard by a miraculous post-pubescent blossoming. He was still too red, too pimply, too awkward.

He was not generous. A life spent watching his father haemorrhaging resources like a wounded beast at the end of a hunt had made him tight-fisted, over-correcting for the king's generosity by reacting with scorn towards anyone asking for help.

He was not fair. He still envied his younger sister whenever their parents showed her any kindness or affection, still deflected the blame for his mistakes onto others.

He was not brave. Many a time Jane had shielded him from imagined danger while he cowered on the floor. The fateful day she had rescued him from Dragon had simply been the first of many that she would come to his aid, and he resented her for all of them.

Oh yes, he resented her. Jane was under no illusion that he felt any kindness towards her. If he saw her as a woman at all it was not as one worthy of his notice, only his contempt.

Which made the erratic beating of her heart whenever he drew near an even greater mystery.

There was no sense in making any effort with her appearance, no point at all in patting down her hair or tugging at her tunic before entering his presence. And yet she found herself doing so each time, as though she would somehow catch his notice that day when she never had before.

Cuthbert would have his choice of beautiful, accomplished, delicate women, and had in fact already rejected two princesses as not being 'good enough' for him.

If her fellow knights noticed her preoccupation with her looks around the Prince they remained silent, although Jane suspected that they would never imagine her harbouring such feelings.

Not for the prince who snorted when he laughed and sneered at Jane for doing the same. Not for the prince who insisted on addressing everyone by occupation rather than name. Not for the prince who had, in his late teens, gone through a phase of calling her __it__.

Yet there she was, helplessly, __hopelessly__ in love. With that prince.

It was humiliating, to say the least. She could do well enough, if she had the inclination. Several young men had approached her over the years, and some did not even object to her choice of profession.

But no. Jane had eyes only for the prince, as much as admitting it made her want to pluck said eyes from her own head.

It was not that he was entirely without redeeming qualities. In her defence he could be a decent person when he chose to be.

The castle was filled with cats now. There was often one settled upon his lap whenever he sat down. They twined around his feet wherever he walked, meowing loudly over his conversations to demand the food from his plate or a scratch behind the ears. He knew them all by name and never, ever lost his patience with them.

In fact, Jane had never seen him show anything but kindness to any animal since the long ago incident with Smithy's Pig.

He was protective of Lavinia, in his own way. When their parents first raised the subject of marrying her off to a neighbouring prince, Cuthbert had protested as loudly as his sister, insisting that she was too young, and not at all ready.

He was not entirely unsympathetic towards the plights of others. Although he curled his lip whenever a farmer or businessman came seeking financial aid, Jane had spied him on more than one occasion slipping a coin into the hand of a hungry child or destitute mother. It had surprised her, the first time, until she remembered how much he hated to see suffering. It seemed he felt even the commonest of people deserved better.

He was desperately insecure, far more aware of his own shortcomings than Jane would ever have given him credit for. He had been well in his cups one night when he had let it slip. They had been alone at the time and he had confided in her, slurring so drunkenly that it had taken Jane several moments to process his words.

He knew he was not handsome, or brave; that he was jealous and selfish. That no princess would find happiness with him, nor could he ever deserve one. He was desperately afraid of failing as king, convinced his people would hate him, if they didn't already.

It was a knife in Jane's heart, hearing him speak so badly of himself. If there was one thing Jane had always had on her side it was confidence, the belief in her own abilities.

She had done her best to restore Cuthbert's confidence, lowering her guard at the risk of revealing her own feelings as she told him all that she admired in him.

There was no way of telling how much, if anything, he remembered the next day. By the time she had escorted him to his chambers and handed him over to the care of his servant he had scarcely been concious. But it seemed to Jane in the days and weeks following that he was just a little kinder, a little more polite, and perhaps even a little more patient with her.

She did her best to quash the fragile hope that bloomed in her chest, reminding herself that she was the opposite of everything he desired, and that he was so far from her reach that he might as well have been the moon.

But she never quite got past the stabbing pain in her heart when he smiled in her direction, never stopped delighting in the sound of his laugh, never ceased to enjoy his excitement when he found a new litter of kittens.

Because Jane loved Prince Cuthbert, she was his most loyal knight, and she could never quite convince herself that it was an entirely bad thing.


End file.
